


A persistent subconscious

by IReallyHopeThisMakesUsEven



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Post-Avengers (2012)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-06
Updated: 2016-09-06
Packaged: 2018-08-13 11:11:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7974712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IReallyHopeThisMakesUsEven/pseuds/IReallyHopeThisMakesUsEven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce has a dream about killing his father, Natasha helps him cope with his past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A persistent subconscious

With a huff, he took off his glasses pinching the bridge of his nose, clenching his eyes. Bruce sighs, opening his eyes to see that he was standing in his childhood home. He felt the vein in his neck begin to pulsate as if it were going to burst. His ears were ringing, making an unbearable ringing noise. 

His eyes caught the sight of his mother’s shoes by the front door next to a small pair of his. Above them, his father’s overworn jacket hung on the door, Bruce felt his feelings twist with confusion. A mixture of yearning for two things he’d wanted his mother's love and hearing his father’s last breath. 

Peeking into the living room he saw his chess set, pieces were where he left them. He was playing by himself, about claim checkmate when his mother rushed down the stairs . 

Bruce felt a presence behind him, a pair of eyes piercing into his back by the door. Turning to meet the face of his father with a suitcase by his side, Brian Banner looked ragged and weak. The image of him for years was firm and intimidating, after all this time, he looked a shell of a man in front of him. 

Brian began to speak but his words were muffled, Bruce couldn’t hear. Bruce interrupted him, stepping towards his father with a pointed finger in his face. Finding it hard to catch his breath, Brian winced as Bruce stepped closer with indignation.

His father tried to open his mouth but Bruce kept him quiet with his thick hatred. Cornering his dad, Bruce could feel his throat staining the longer he yelled.

Reaching for the doorknob Brian walked out the door dragging his suitcase behind him. Bruce trailed behind him, hollering after him he could feel the anger drain his vocal chords. Bruce stopped him at the car, grabbing him by the collar his father turning his head cringing at Bruce. 

Behind him Bruce could hear a faint sound that was calling to him, unable to hear out the words. Bruce was bloodthirsty, he was focused on the man in front of him. The causation to all his problems cascade to his clenched fist, he gave his father a right hook. Falling at his feet, Bruce grabbed him and struck his father again.

Brian's head met the concrete but Bruce continued to wail on him, bashing his head once into the ground. Bruce felt his body drop against his palm, a few moments later he saw blood coming from the back Brian’s head. 

“Robert Bruce Banner” he turned around to see Natasha, the muffled voice behind him. She had been there too long, her mouth dropped open at the sight of the corpse at Bruce's feet. 

Bruce looked back down to see his mother’s body in the place of his father's. He picked up his head to see a ten-year-old self-kneeling down to cradle his mother's head. 

Trembling when he wakes, papers fall of his chest, he sprinted to the bathroom falling to his knees. Heaving till his stomach relaxed, flushing the toilet and brushing his teeth. He wet his face, washing off the sweat from his nightmare, Bruce could barely look at himself in the mirror. Each time he did Bruce would see characteristics of his father pointing back at him. 

When Bruce walked back he saw a tired-eyed Natasha waiting for him. “I'm sorry I woke you, ” he said crawling into next to her, she comforts him. Grasping softly onto the back of his head as he curls into her side. 

It was silent for a bit until Bruce said “ I had a dream that I killed my father, the same he killed my mother” she steals against him, staying calm“ I don’t what was worse… you seeing me do it or it up being my-” Bruce shot up to the bathroom with a hand over his mouth. 

She followed him, standing next to him as he heaved until he had nothing left to give. Reaching down to touch his hair or rub his back occasionally for comfort, supporting him in a form of balance. 

“I don’t want you to think this changes my mind,” Bruce said half-heartedly while putting down his toothbrush. Exiting the bathroom, he picked up the papers that had fallen off his chest.

Adoption papers, before closing his eyes he felt comfortable with their decision. Now, he was starting to question circumstances even if he wouldn’t like to admit, especially not to Natasha

“Maybe we should hold off for a bit” Natasha’s voice gravely, he catches her eyes, feeling vulnerable. Transparent in her eyes, leaving him with the feeling of defeat.

Sitting on the bed with slumped shoulders “You called me by my first name” he mumbles, placing the papers on the side table.

Natasha got onto her knees, coming up to Bruce, she holds his face with one hand and stroke his hair with another. “You are not your father” she whispers so softly, words he'd wished to hear years ago. He found comfort in hearing them now, something felt like it had been filled. “And you are not his father either” she adds, searching his eyes for some hope that Bruce didn't go. He didn't fall back into the void of self-deprivation, though she wouldn't blame him if he did. 

Bruce shakes his head “what if I can’t be there for them emotionally, what if there're certain things I can’t provide for them because of my past?” Looking up into her eyes for an answer with his bottom lip quiver slightly.

She grabs his face forcing eye contact “you aren’t in this alone Bruce, not anymore” she plants her presence. Showing him her hand “I'm not going anywhere, neither are you” she claims firmly.

Looking down to avoid Natasha’s gaze, she could watch his negative thoughts pool in his mind. “What if I get angry and leave again?” he asks hoping that his question does not upset her.

“Know I won’t be that far behind” she whispers placing a soft kiss on his forehead. “If you can’t trust your own previous opinion then trust my judgment” she gives him a supportive smile. She continues “your dream is your subconscious trying to keep you from being happy, let yourself be happy Bruce” Natasha grabbed his hand and gave it a light squeeze.

“With time,” he said, Natasha nods in agreement, holding out her arms. He falls into her chest, forehead still clammy he stuck to her, she soothed him easing him back into a comfortable state.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
